I love Cronenberg so much, his films are so easy (to watch, not to stomach!) yet every second feels endlessly deep like an invitation rather than a necessity. This feels like his saddest: vanishing twin syndrome rendered first in self-destruction and then hatred towards the thing that created you in the first place, ironic for a man who goes to work dressed like the placental pope.
Would make a hell of a triple-bill with Inside and She Dies Tomorrow. Played in reverse, they'd map the descent of the collective psyche across this pandemic from cosmic hypochondria through agoraphobic content gorging and to the feast's final remains of a blue-light brain, dissociated from body, surroundings and person (that part of ourselves was always buffering slowly, the pandemic only quickened our march towards the Metaverse).
But starting from We're all Going to the World's Fair, the trilogy defines…
Long as fuck but so inspiring. Brockhampton exemplify what art in 2017 should look like, just a complete unshackling socially and creatively.
I love that it starts in a dark bedroom and ends at a performance to thousands, really shows the meteoric rise the group's found.
Seeing their excitement and energy when making STAR almost made me cry.